When I See You Cry
by DarkAngelElektra
Summary: After she caught him cheating on her, sorry was all he could say-but sorry was the last thing she wanted to hear. John Morrison/Maria, taken from Sinfully Sined's list of story starters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story was taken from one of Sinfully Sined's story ideas, so thanks, Sin, for providing such a great idea to work with! Sorry that it's taken so long to get something written, but I had finals and schoolwork, and then I wanted to update my other stories before I got to this one. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one in this story.**

**ORIGINAL IDEA (from Sinfully Sined): **Saying sorry wasn't something that he always did. No in fact he never said sorry to anyone before her. Now it seems sorry is all that he can say to her without hurting her. Or so he thought. That was until he heard her in the bathroom crying her eyes out after he told her that he was sorry for cheating on her. Her words she did know he heard "I'd rather he slap then tell me sorry one more time. That word cuts deeper than anything else in the world.

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**When I See You Cry**

Chapter 1: Sick of Sorry

Sorry.

One word, five letters, two syllables. Such a simple word to say, but one that had always been difficult for him to utter. After all, when you were the Shaman of Sexy, one-half of the World Tag Team Champions and could have any woman you wanted, "sorry" was not a part of your vocabulary. But then he had met…_her_, and discovered that there was more to life than winning matches and scoring chicks. That even the tag title belts were not as precious as feeling her head resting against his chest.

Once he had found her, everything had been perfect—and then somehow he had managed to screw it up royally; getting caught with the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. And now, like a broken record, all he could say was "sorry". Hoping that, like a magical spell, just voicing it could make everything better.

John Morrison ran a hand through his dark brown locks as he trudged down the hallway. Ever since yesterday, he had been walking around in a preoccupied haze, going through the motions without any real awareness that he was doing them. For instance, he knew that he and his fellow tag team champ, Mike Mizanin, had just won a match against Jesse and Festus, but if someone had stopped to ask him, he would not have been able to relate one detail about that match. All he could think about was _her_; her long red hair, her wide green eyes, the lithe movement of her body as she walked—he'd take that over the Miz's juvenile antics any day.

His partner had not been particularly helpful either. When he had called Miz up last night to ask for advice, his head on the verge of exploding from all the emotions swirling around inside it, the self-proclaimed Chick Magnet's response had been to laugh_._

_Man, what're you freaking out about? I mean, if someone as smoking hot as Maryse had come up to ME—I would have hit that in a heartbeat, dude._

Then: _I wouldn't worry about her. She's just a chick; it's probably her time of the month or something. She'll get over it. Besides…you're better off without her._

The Shaman of Sexy sighed. Miz just didn't get it. This whole incident…it had made him realize that he was nothing without her. Which is what he would soon be in the literal sense if he didn't find some way to make this right, and soon.

John stopped, covering his face with both hands and groaning. He was such a fucking idiot. Why hadn't he told Maryse to hit the road the second she stepped into the locker room? Why hadn't he stopped it when she closed the door, or when she walked up to him and—

He broke off the thought, but not before feeling his heart wrench painfully in his chest. The Tag Team Champion lowered his hands, letting them fall back down to his sides. His eyes listlessly scanned the corridor in front of him—then abruptly, his vision cleared, focusing in on a figure several yards down. Long dark hair and a slender figure identified her as one of the Bella twins. John moved toward her, energy returning to his stride. She wasn't the object of his quest—but she could lead him to it.

The SmackDown Diva was leaning against the wall, eyes glued to her two-way as she texted with both hands. She sensed his presence, and glanced up, startled. Her surprised expression quickly morphed into a disdainful scowl. "Oh…it's _you_." She returned her attention to the small screen of her mobile device.

The Shaman of Sexy felt a sudden flash of panic, realizing that he had no idea whether the Diva in front of him was Brie or Nikki. "Hey," he began, skirting the name issue entirely. "Um, I was wondering…have you seen Maria lately?"

Brie-or-Nikki rolled her eyes back up toward him, her breath escaping from her lips in an impatient sigh. "My sister's with her. I can tell you right now, though…she doesn't want to talk to you."

John's broad shoulders slumped, defeat flashing across his features. "Oh…you know, then."

The SmackDown Diva snapped her two-way shut, pointing it at him accusingly. "Yeah, but not from Maria. See, a little while ago, your little girl-pal Maryse decided to get in 'Ria's face and brag about how she's the new love of your life now." Her delicately-featured face twitched with anger. "Just so you know: if I see that blond whore again—I'm ripping her hair out."

_Join the club_…the Tag Team Champion added silently, feeling a stirring of annoyance. Any progress that he might have made toward getting Maria to forgive him had just been wiped out by the French-Canadian Diva's meddling. _What the hell did I ever see in her_? It was a rhetorical question; one which he had been asking himself for the past twenty-four hours.

John quickly pushed aside his irritation. He would deal with Maryse if he saw her, but right now, he had to get to Maria. He had to fix this. "Listen, could you just point me in the right direction? You know, just—" He faltered, his normally smooth tongue failing him. Helplessly, he held out his hands, silently pleading with her. "Please," he finally managed to say. "Please…just…tell me where she is."

Brie-or-Nikki stared back at him, and after several long seconds, the suspicion in her face softened slightly. Without looking, she gestured over her shoulder. "She's in the bathroom down the hall." John didn't speak, only nodded his thanks and hurried past her.

"You're wasting your time!" the Smackdown Diva called after him. "Like I said—she doesn't want to talk to you."

_No offense…_the Shaman of Sexy thought to himself. _But I hope you're wrong…_

He halted outside the bathroom door, taking a moment or two to steel himself before he raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles could make contact with its surface, he stopped, hearing voices within. The Tag Team Champion moved a little bit closer, practically pressing his ear against the door.

"Come on, 'Ria," That must be the other Bella sibling. "You know she didn't mean it."

John's breath caught in his throat as the other person spoke, the smoky tones belonging to none other than his Maria. Just hearing the misery in her voice made his heart twist into a know. "Yes, _she did_, Nikki. You_ know_ she did." Guess that answered the question of which Bella twin he'd been speaking to. "And even if she hadn't gotten in my face—it wouldn't matter because I _saw them together_! Okay? _I saw him with her_! Maryse knows that…she's just trying to shove the knife in even further."

"What about John?" he heard Nikki ask. "What's he saying about this whole situation?"

"John?" For a moment, the Shaman of Sexy actually thought that Maria was addressing him, and opened his mouth to answer. Before he could, however, she rushed on. "He's been apologizing since last night."

"Well, that's good," Nikki ventured tentatively. "I mean, at least he's not trying to make excuses or anything—"

"You don't get it, Nik!" Maria interrupted, her voice rising in volume. "_All he says _is 'I'm sorry'. 'I'm sorry' this,' I'm sorry' that—well, Nikki, I'm getting pretty damn _sick_ of sorry!" Maria's voice had shifted; now it sounded like it was closer to the door. John quickly moved back, preparing himself in case the door should suddenly fly open.

But Maria wasn't finished. "Let me put it this way—" She must have been standing on the other side of the door; she sounded like she was right next to him. "I would rather have him _hit me in the face_ than say 'I'm sorry' one more time. At least—" Her voice broke, but she continued. "At least then I would know that he _cared_. The more he says that he's sorry, the more I think that he doesn't mean it." Her words became incoherent as she dissolved into tears, and there was the sound of footsteps on tile as Nikki moved to comfort her.

John slowly backed away from the door, his whole body tightening with emotion. Guilt crashed over him, and he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat. Maria's words echoed in his ears, sounding almost like an accusation:

_I would rather have him hit me in the face than say 'I'm sorry' one more time…_

John had never hit a woman in his life—not even Melina, and she had been a bitch—and there was no way in hell that he was going to start with Maria. But all mention of domestic abuse aside, she had been right. Ever since last night, he had been _telling _her how sorry he was—but not _showing _her. Somehow, he had to let her know how much he cared, how she meant the world to him—somehow, he had to show her how sorry he really was.

The problem was, he didn't have a fucking clue how to do it.

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, this story gave me the worst writer's block. I'm not even kidding; it's like I had to rip this chapter out of my brain. But, here it is, so enjoy!**

**Thank you to **Nastygrl25 **and **AshlynnxHearts **for reviewing the first chapter! You are AWESOME!**

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Chapter 2: Moments Remembered

_"Hey…you must be Maria."_

_The former backstage reporter turned around, pushing back the blue-feathered hood of her ring outfit, her long red hair spilling down over her shoulders. She gazed quizzically at the tall figure leaning casually against the wall just next to her. _

_The Shaman of Sexy grinned, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose with one finger. "I don't think we've met—I'm John Morrison." He extended his hand, palm turned downward. "Welcome to SmackDown." He stood there in that position for a few moments, waiting for Maria to grab onto his hand with both of hers, waiting for those eyes of hers to get all wide and adoring, just like every Diva—every other GIRL—he had approached had done before her._

_But the Playboy cover girl did neither. Instead, she raised her hand to her mouth, biting gently down on the edge of one manicured fingernail. Her mouth curved up into a small amused smile, and her shoulders moved up and down as she uttered a throaty chuckle. _

_Morrison's grin faltered. Whatever he had been expecting from Maria, it certainly hadn't been this. And that expression on her face—it was as though she had put him through a mental appraisal and found him lacking in some way._

_Which was ridiculous, because he was John freaking Morrison. He was the Shaman of Sexy. He was what EVERY woman wanted…right?_

_The former Tag Team champion scowled, straightened up to his full height. "What's so funny?" he demanded, his voice no longer the low seductive murmur it had been a second ago._

_Maria took her hand away from her mouth, pushing back a lock of hair in the process. "Nothing…except that we HAVE met." She stared up at him boldly, the smile on her face becoming almost like a smirk. "We were on the same brand for like a year, until you went to ECW and changed your name."_

_Morrison managed not to flinch. CRAP. He'd been in the Land of Extreme for so long that he'd completely forgotten about his past experience on Monday Night Raw. Unfortunately, Maria hadn't, and from the look in her eyes, she was gearing herself up to make him relive every painful moment._

_The former backstage reporter cocked her head to one side, still talking. "In fact, I think I interviewed you a couple times—"_

_The Shaman of Sexy rolled his eyes behind his aviator sunglasses, still scowling. "All right—" he began, but Maria wasn't finished._

_"—we faced each other in a few mixed tag matches—"_

_"Okay, I GET it—"_

_"Not that I ever wrestled YOU," the Playboy cover girl continued, her eyes still fixed on Morrison. "I always had to face off against your girlfriend…what was her name again?"_

_Morrison clenched his teeth, trying his hardest not to glare. The last person he needed to be reminded of at this moment was his ex. "Melina," he replied, almost spitting out the name._

_"Melina." Maria repeated, but it was evident from her expression that—just like everything else—she had not forgotten that particular nugget of information. The red-haired Diva shook her head, her countenance bordering on disdainful. "You know, just because I act like a bimbo on camera doesn't mean that I AM one. I can't believe you actually thought I'd be stupid enough to fall for your pretty-boy crap." She planted one hand on her hip. "Your name may have changed—but nothing else has." With that, she spun around and stalked off in the opposite direction, not even gracing the former Tag Team champion with so much as a goodbye._

_Morrison stared after her for a few seconds, his mouth hanging agape. He couldn't believe this was happening. Women were supposed to fall all over him—not tell him off and leave him speechless in the middle of the hallway. Muttering under his breath, the Shaman of Sexy jogged after Maria, catching up with her and moving in front of her to block her path. "Hey!" he blurted out indignantly, ripping off his sunglasses. Maria looked up at him expectantly, no intimidation in her expression._

_As soon as her green eyes locked with his, Morrison felt the breath leave his body. He had never really looked at her except through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, and he felt as though he was seeing the former backstage reporter for the first time. He had never realized just how beautiful she really was. But it was more than that. There was a fire in her, a spark of personality that was more alluring than the clueless girls he was accustomed to picking up at the clubs. _

_He had first approached her thinking he was gracing her with his presence. But in reality, she was gracing him with hers._

_Maria, in the meanwhile, stared back at him impatiently, both arms crossed over her chest. "Well?" she asked, a trace of annoyance creeping in her voice. "What's the matter; you not finished insulting my intelligence yet?"_

_Morrison was still trying to regain his voice. "You're right," he finally managed to say. Surprise flitted across Maria's features, and her irritated expression softened slightly. The Shaman of Sexy continued, the words spilling out over one another. "You're right, nothing has changed…so let's start over." He stuck out his hand again. "I'm John."_

_Maria eyed him warily. "Not—"_

_"Not John Morrison, not Johnny Nitro, just…John," the former Tag Team champion finished for her. He continued to hold out his hand, hoping that she'd take it this time, hoping that she'd look at his face and realize that it wasn't a line this time. _

_At what felt like forever, the Playboy cover girl accepted it, a small smile replacing her cautious countenance. "Hi, John. I'm Maria."_

_"Hi," the Shaman of Sexy replied, mentally wanting to kick himself for sounding like such a tool. The pair of them stared at each other for several long seconds before Maria let go of his hand, dropping her green gaze back down toward the floor. John cleared his throat. "Listen…um…I know I was a jerk earlier, and there's no reason you should even talk to me after how I acted, but…" He hesitated. God, why was this so hard all of a sudden? He used to be able to spout out these kinds of proposals in his sleep. "After the show…do you want—you know—to grab a bite to eat or something?" Maria lifted her eyes off the floor to meet his again, and the former Tag Team champion lost whatever nerve he had gathered in the preceding moments. "You don't have to…I mean—"_

_"Sure." Maria's simple assent was so unexpected that John almost fell over. The Shaman of Sexy blinked once or twice, then grinned, hoping that he didn't look like a total idiot. _

"_Great!" he exclaimed. "That's…that's great!" He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He wanted to say something else, but all that his brain seemed capable of producing was another "Great!", so he just clamped his mouth shut._

_Maria glanced briefly down the hallway behind him, then back at him. "Listen, John, I've got a match coming up, so I need to get going, but I'll meet you after the show, okay?"_

"_Sure," John heard himself say as though from a great distance. "See you then, Maria."_

_See you then, Maria…_

"John!"

The Shaman of Sexy snapped his head up, looking around for the source of the voice. The surprise on his handsome features faded when he saw that it was merely his tag team partner. "Hey, Mike. What's up?"

The Miz shook his head, grinning. "Nothing…except that I said hi to you three times when I walked in the locker room, and you didn't answer."

John rose to his feet, extending his arms outward in a quick stretch. "Sorry, man, I was just thinking."

"Obviously," Miz walked over to his cubbyhole, lifting out his suitcase as he talked. "Listen, what's up with you, dude? You've been acting weird ever since last night. During our match tonight, you looked like you were a million miles away." He glanced over at his tag team partner, and realized that John had drifted off into his own little world again. "Hey! Morrison!"

The former Tag Team champion started, looking back at the Miz. "What?"

The Chick Magnet shook his head. "You haven't heard a word I said, have you?" John shrugged, but didn't answer. Miz continued. "Listen, dude, it doesn't matter because tonight, we're gonna go to the club, we're gonna score some girls—'

"Can't." The Shaman of Sexy's reply was terse. Miz frowned, confusion replacing the glee. John went on. "I have to go talk to Maria—"

"_Maria_?" The Chick Magnet chortled with laughter, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. "Don't tell me you're still crying over her!" His tag team partner glared at him, the distraction on his face quickly turning to annoyance. Miz walked over to John, slapping him on the shoulder. The expression on his face was almost pitying. "Listen, dude, forget about Maria, okay? I know you had some fun with her, but that whole _relationship_ thing you had going on was getting old."

Miz leaned closer, his voice becoming low and conspiratorial. "You and me—we're not into the whole 'serious relationship' kind of thing. I'm the Chick Magnet!" He whacked John on the shoulder again. "You're the freakin' Shaman of Sexy! Picking up girls—that's our _thing_, man! That's our _thing_! Speaking of girls—" A leer crept across the Chick Magnet's features. "Maryse, dude, _fuckin' Maryse_—you have to give me details, man, you have to give me fuckin' _details—_'

John wasn't listening, however; he was too overwhelmed by the fragments of memory racing through his mind…

_She doesn't want to talk to you…_

_I would rather have him hit me in the face than say "I'm sorry" one more time…_

_You're better off without her…_

_The more he says that he's sorry, the more I think that he doesn't mean it…_

_Your name may have changed—but nothing else has…_

_I'm sorry…_

With a low impatient growl, John shoved Miz away from him. The Chick Magnet stumbled backward a few steps, almost losing his balance. His mouth hung open in shock. "Hey, man," he eventually said. 'What's your problem?"

"What do you think?" the Shaman of Sexy shot back. He cast a glare at his tag team partner. "My problem is _you_!" He grabbed his suitcase, throwing it onto the bench and hurling items into it as he talked. "Picking up girls—maybe that's _your_ thing, but it's not mine. Not anymore. There's only one girl that I want—and that's Maria." Zipping his suitcase shut with a vengeance, he grabbed the handle, lifting it up and storming across the room toward the door.

The Miz, temporarily stuck dumb, found his voice again. "You're wasting your time!" he called out, his tone scornful. "She dumped your ass; she's not going to want anything to do with you—"

John whirled around, and the look on his face was enough to make the Chick Magnet fall silent once again. "Oh, yeah?" the former Tag Team champion replied, his voice dangerously soft. "One question, _dude_—why do you care?" Without waiting for a reply, he yanked the door open, moving out into the corridor and leaving his speechless tag team partner behind him.

The Shaman of Sexy took a left, walking briskly down the hall toward the direction of the parking garage. The corridor was fairly empty, with the exception of a few technicians loading an equipment crate. John turned another corner, and then stopped to catch his breath. Setting down his suitcase, he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

For a while, there was only the faint sound of cheering and the mindless drone of the air conditioner; a welcome change from the Miz's chauvinistic patter. Then, just when he thought that he had finally calmed down enough to drive, a new voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hello, Johnny."

John froze, every muscle in his body tensing. _Oh, shit, not her_… For a moment, he hoped that he had made a mistake, but the French accent had been unmistakable, and when he opened his eyes and saw the bright platinum blond hair, he knew that there was no question.

"Hey…Maryse."

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Finally, a new chapter! Sorry about the wait, I'm still trying to sort out my work and school schedules.**

**Thank you to **Nastygrl25, Ainat, iluvmycena **and **AshlynnxHearts **for reviewing the last chapter! You are all AWESOME!

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Chapter 3: Maryse

_"C'mon, Johnny!" Maria giggled. "You're going to make me late for my match!"_

_The Shaman of Sexy wrapped his arms around his girlfriend's waist, pulling her back against him. "One more kiss," he coaxed. "For good luck."_

_The red-haired Diva pressed her hands against his chest, tilting her head up to gaze at him. Her mouth curved upward in that sweet smile he adored. "Good luck for who?" she replied. "You or me?"_

_"How about for both of us?" John replied, bending down to seal her mouth with his. For several long seconds, the couple embraced in the empty locker room. Then, Maria pulled back, albeit reluctantly. "Seriously, Johnny, I have to go."_

_"Wait, wait!" The former Tag Team Champion grabbed her arm before she could go very far, gently pulling her back to him. "One more thing—and then I'll let you go, I swear." He reached up, tucking a long tress of hair back behind her ear. "I've got a surprise for you."_

_Maria pouted at him, but she couldn't keep the impatience on her face for long. "All right," she agreed. "But only because you asked so nicely!"_

_"Great!" Taking hold of her shoulders, John maneuvered Maria over to the other side of the room, turning her around to face the wall of mirrors. "Now close your eyes—no peeking!" The former backstage reporter smiled and stuck her tongue out at him teasingly, but obligated. While her beautiful green eyes were closed, the Shaman of Sexy dug into his pocket, pulling out the necklace he had bought earlier last week. It was a delicate silver heart outline, suspended on a slender silver chain. Holding the chain between both thumbs and forefingers, he lifted it over her head, placing it around her neck and fastening the clasp. "Okay, baby—open your eyes."_

_Maria did so, and squealed with delight as soon as she saw the piece of jewelry adorning her throat. "Oh my God, Johnny—it's beautiful!" She spun around, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging it. "It's beautiful." she repeated. _

_John drew back, but only so he could gaze at her face. "You're beautiful," he replied, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand._

_Maria sighed with contentment, leaning into his touch. "I love you…" she murmured, her eyes drifting closed._

_John leaned down, pressing his lips tenderly to her forehead. "I love you, too, baby," he whispered. "I love you, too…"_

"Johnny?"

The former Tag Team Champion jumped, the blissful memories of the past dissolving into the cold hard reality of the present. Maria wasn't here in his arms; she was miles away…and the Diva standing in front of him was such a far cry from his 'Ria that there was no chance of confusing the two.

Maryse pushed her pale blond hair over her shoulder, her other hand on her hip. She stared at the Shaman of Sexy with more than a little impatience. "Are you listening to me?"

John shook his head, not out of negation, but to dispel the remaining threads of memory still swirling around his brain. "Yeah…sure." He stared at the French-Canadian Diva, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you want, Maryse?" he asked, his tone brusque.

If Maryse was at all put off by his terseness, she didn't show it. Instead, the blond Diva took a step toward him, reaching out to put her hand on his arm. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I have to talk to you."

John glanced down the hall, praying for an interruption, _any _interruption—a bomb, a meteor, a fucking Act of God—_anything_ that would take him away from here. But the corridor was deserted, save for him. And Maryse.

The Shaman of Sexy looked back at the SmackDown Diva in front of him. "Make it quick," he snapped, not even attempting to be polite at this point. "I've got shit to do."

Maryse smiled; a slow lazy smile. She let out a throaty hum that could have almost been a purr. She took another step toward John, forcing him back against the wall. He wondered if she noticed how much he was trying to avoid bodily contact with her. "I took care of Maria tonight for you; explained the situation to her." She tilted her head up, studying his face. "Don't feel bad, Johnny—you were never going to be happy with her. You and her were nothing alike, while you and I—" Again that throaty purr. "I think we understand each other, no?"

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!" John tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. He settled for glaring at the French-Canadian Diva. "Explained _what_ situation to her?"

Maryse stared up at him, blinking her brown eyes innocently. "That you and I are a couple now."

_There was a knock on the locker room door._

_"Come in!" John called out absently. "We're all decent in here." The "we" was an overstatement; the Shaman of Sexy was the only one still in the locker room. He was so focused on removing the tape from his wrists that he didn't register the soft click of high heels against cement, or the faint hiss of the door swinging shut. Thus it wasn't surprising that he jumped when he felt two warm hands come to rest on his shoulders. _

_John tensed for a moment, then relaxed, a warm smile spreading across his face as he turned around. "Hey, baby, you scared…" The words died in his throat and the smile faded away when he saw that the Diva behind him was not his beloved Maria, but the ever-sultry Maryse._

"_Hello, Johnny," the French-Canadian Diva cooed, leaning down to give him an even better view of her ample cleavage. _

_John turned away, trying to focus once again on tape removal. "What do you want, Maryse?" he asked, his tone wary. _

_Maryse didn't answer at first, but instead walked slowly around to stand in front of him, her fingertips still resting on his shoulder. "I have a problem," the SmackDown Diva began. She waited for some comment from the former Tag Team Champion, but receiving none, went on. "See…I like you…and I know you like me." She bent down again, bringing her perfectly featured face in close proximity to his. "I see the way you look at me."_

_John wanted to add that he wasn't the only one; at one point or another, EVERY guy on the roster had stared at Maryse. But the Shaman of Sexy kept his mouth shut. Maryse went on. "So, I decided to come and find you…and maybe you could help me solve my problem." As she spoke, the blond Diva brazenly climbed onto his lap, straddling his legs with her own._

_John leaned back, holding his hands up, trying not to touch her but making no attempt to push her off. "Whoa, hold on!" he managed to say. "We can't do this—I'm with Maria—"_

"_She doesn't need to find out," Maryse interjected smoothly. She draped her arms around John's neck, leaning forward. "Besides, there's no crime in taking what you want…and I know you want me…"_

"_But—" John managed to say before Maryse's lips were on his. The former Tag Team Champion vaguely remembered wanting to stop, TRYING to stop—but his body refused to obey him. Instead of shoving Maryse off him, he buried his hands in her long blond hair, pulling her against him. He slid his mouth down to her neck, and the French-Canadian Diva moaned softly. The sound of her desire incited John even more, and as the world faded into a haze of sensation, he realized that he couldn't stop because he didn't really want to—_

"_Johnny?"_

_The single agonized utterance of his name hit the Shaman of Sexy like a bucket of icy water. Breaking off the kiss, he wrenched his head around—his heart plummeting into his stomach when he saw Maria standing in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle. The red-haired Diva's eyes were wide, glittering with unshed tears, and the expression on her face…it made John's gut clench to think that he was the cause of such misery. _

_For a moment, he entertained the notion that this was just a dream; that his conscience was kicking into high gear to keep him from making a huge mistake. But Maria was already shaking her head, already backing away, and as the first tears rolled down her face, he knew with terrible certainty that this was NO dream._

_Pushing Maryse off his lap, the former Tag Team Champion leapt to his feet, running after the now fleeing Maria. "'Ria!" he called after her. "'Ria, wait!" The former backstage reporter didn't pause, however, and John practically had to sprint to catch up with her. He grabbed her elbow, turning her around to face him. "'Ria, please, look at me—"_

_He was silenced by the slap that stung his face. John's handsome features went slack, and he stared down at Maria in astonishment. _

_The red-haired Diva glared back up at him, her face twisted into an expression of anger and misery. With a tremendous effort, she wrenched her arm free from his grasp. "Don't TOUCH me!" she spat, her chest heaving up and down with each breath. Tears streamed down her face. "How COULD you?" she pleaded, moving back a step, then another._

_John tried to speak, but his normally smooth tongue failed him. The only words that would come to him were the obvious ones: "I'm sorry." he managed to say._

_Maria shook her head. "Whatever, Johnny. I don't want to hear it." She thrust her other arm out. Dangling from her clenched fist was the necklace John had given her only a short time ago. The former backstage reporter kept her gaze locked on the Shaman of Sexy as she spoke. "I was going to ask you to hold onto it during my match so it wouldn't get broken—but I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"_

"_Wait, Maria, let me explain—" John began, but Maria had already cocked her arm back, hurling the necklace. It hit the wall, the delicate heart snapping in half when it connected with the unyielding cinderblock—_

John pushed his body off the wall, forcing Maryse to take a step back. The blond Diva's smile evaporated, as she realized that she was no longer in control of the situation. "Are you _high_?" the former Tag Team Champion exclaimed. "You and I—there is _no_ you and I, Maryse!"

"But—but—" Maryse sputtered. "I thought—I thought you _liked_ me!"

John stared at her for a second or two, his mouth twisting into a humorless smile. "No, I _don't_ like you. I _never_ liked you." He leaned closer, enjoying the SmackDown Diva's discomfort. "And as for that kiss we shared…that was a mistake—a mistake I don't plan on repeating." He turned to go.

"Where're you going?" Maryse's accented voice had become shrill with near-hysteria. "Back to _her_?" She let out a scornful laugh. "She'll _never_ take you back; not after what I told her—"

The Shaman of Sexy spun around so fast that Maryse actually skittered back a step or two. "Maryse." John's voice was cold, devoid of emotion. "I've never hit a woman in my life—but I swear to God that I will start with you if you say _anything more_ about Maria." He bent down, bringing his face to her level. "There is _nothing_ between us—got it?'

Maryse's lips trembled. "But—but, Johnny—"

"And don't call me Johnny!" John interrupted fiercely. "You don't have the _right_ to call me that! That name is for _her_ to use, understand? _Only_ her." He straightened up, still glaring down at the French-Canadian Diva before him. "Get this through your head—you're _nothing_ compared to her. She's _everything_ to me…and you…you're just boring." Turning on his heel, he strode off without another word.

Behind him, he heard Maryse tearfully exclaim: "_I'm boring_?"

* * *

The French-Canadian Diva wept softly, leaning back against the wall. She couldn't believe what had just happened. To think that John Morrison had actually dumped _her_ for that plain, ordinary little mouse named Maria—

Maryse pulled her hands back from her face, her eyes already turning steely as she began to scheme. This wasn't over. Once Johnny realized that Maria would never take him back, he would come crawling back to her. He would come back. Men like him _always_ came back.

The SmackDown Diva smiled, her mood already brightening. She stretched, humming a little tune to herself. There was no point in getting upset; not when things were going to work out in the end. Time to head back to the locker room, grab her stuff, and leave this arena behind her…

Maryse turned to go, shrieking as one of the Bella twins materialized right in front of her. The dark-haired Diva put her hands on her hips, staring at Maryse with an unreadable expression.

The French-Canadian Diva's eyes narrowed. She had no patience for these little sideshow freaks, especially now. "Excuse me, Brie," she asked, fake politeness dripping off her voice. "But could you—"

"Oh, I'm not Brie," the Bella twin interrupted. "I'm Nikki." Maryse wondered why she was even having this conversation when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Puzzled, the blond Diva turned around—only to see a fist speeding toward her. Maryse had no chance to avoid the blow; the fist connected with her nose. There was a crunch of cartilage and the French-Canadian Diva staggered backward, yowling in pain, blood pouring down her face. Her feet went out from under her and she fell ungracefully onto her ass.

Above her, the other Bella twin stared down without sympathy, shaking out her bruised hand. Nikki shrugged, nodding toward her sister. "_That's_ Brie."

* * *

John pressed harder on the gas pedal, trying to urge the car forward as fast as he could without breaking the speed limit. Other vehicles whizzed past him, but he barely registered them; all of his thoughts were on Maria.

He didn't know what he was going to find when he got back to the hotel, but if there was even a chance that he could make this right…then he was going to do whatever it took to get Maria back.

_**TO BE CONCLUDED...**_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: And now, the thrilling conclusion! Or, at least...the conclusion! (I can't guarantee the thrilling part) The song in this chapter is by Buckcherry; all words and rights belong to them, not me.**

**Thank you to **iluvmycena, Nastygrl25, **and** AshlynnxHearts **for reviewing the last chapter! You're AWESOME!

* * *

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Chapter 4: Whatever It Takes

John twisted the tuner knob on the car's radio, trying to shuffle through the various frequencies while still keeping his eyes on the road. His hotel wasn't that far from the arena, but so far, he'd run through two red lights and come dangerously close to getting in a fender bender. His mind was a million miles from the task at hand, cycling through every painful and unwanted memory from the previous twenty-four hours. Music was the last thing that he wanted to hear, but if he didn't find some way to ground himself in the present, he really _was_ going to end up in an accident. And then he'd be too late, too late to catch her before she left him for good—

The Shaman of Sexy wasn't too sure about a whole lot right now; his brain had been running on autopilot the entire evening. But one thing he did know for certain: if he didn't find Maria tonight, if he didn't make one last attempt to get her to stay…he would probably never get another chance. It was all or nothing this time, and not even during a title match had John Morrison felt the pressure of this maxim so keenly.

The garbled static coming through the car speakers cleared up, replaced by a slow guitar refrain. John thought that he had heard it somewhere before, but at this point, it really didn't matter. The song on the radio could have been "The Macarana" for all he cared; so long as it allowed him to focus on driving long enough to get to the hotel in one piece. The Tuesday Night Delight took a deep breath, forcing himself to hold it for a few seconds, forcing himself to listen to the words, to seek meaning in them even if there was none to be found.

_Oh I have a lot to say_

_I was thinking on my time away_

_I miss you and things weren't the same_

'_Cause everything inside, it never comes out right_

_And when I see you cry, it makes me wanna die_

_I'm sorry I'm bad_

_I'm sorry you're blue_

_I'm sorry 'bout all the things I said to you_

_And I know I can't take it back_

_I love how you kiss_

_I love how it sounds_

_And baby, the way you make my world go round_

_And I just wanted to say…I'm sorry_

John quickly jabbed the tuner knob with his index finger, and the song instantly died away into silence. It was too late, though; the lyrics continued to bounce around his skull like some kind of melodic accusation, reminding him of what he had been unable to accomplish. The former Tag Team Champion sighed, wiping his forehead with the back of one hand. Why was it that whenever you wanted least to be reminded of something, some song that seemed to have been written just for you always came on the radio? What was next; Carrie fucking Underwood screeching about smashing her man's truck with a baseball bat?

The Shaman of Sexy focused his attention back on the road ahead of him, letting his breath out in a low sigh of relief when he saw the large neon Days Inn sign up ahead. John twisted the steering wheel sharply to the right, not bothering to put on his turn signal and cutting off another car in the process. He ignored the shrill horn honks and muffled yells of profanity, his eyes seeking the closest available parking space.

_There_ was one, right in front of the building. With his luck, it was probably a twenty-minute unloading zone or something, and he would most likely walk out the next morning to find himself the proud recipient of a parking ticket. But the Tuesday Night Delight really didn't give a damn. If paying a couple hundred bucks also meant intercepting Maria, then it would be more than worth the cost.

John swung the car into the space, shutting off the engine and practically vaulting out of the vehicle. He jogged to the main doors, halting and waiting impatiently for the automatic mechanism to engage. As soon as a sizable gap appeared between the doors, he eased his body through, walking quickly into the hotel.

As he crossed the lobby, he heard several gasps and excited whispers. Apparently, more than a few WWE fans were staying at the same hotel. Normally, the Shaman of Sexy would have stopped to acknowledge them, signing autographs, posing for a picture or two. But right now, the fans were the last thing on John Morrison's mind and he moved to the elevators without so much as a glance in their direction.

He jabbed the "UP" button with his thumb, tapping his foot as he awaited the arrival of the elevator. When the doors refused to part, he pressed it a second time. Then a third. "Come on," he quietly urged the mechanical transport. "Come _on_!" After what felt like an eternity, the doors slid back and he jumped into the elevator, pressing "3" and "CLOSE DOORS".

With a groan and a rumble of machinery, the elevator car began its slow ascent. John paced the length of the tiny chamber, running both hands through his hair. He felt like the apparatus was laughing at him; its sluggish pace its way of telling him: _You should have taken the stairs_! The elevator jolted, and with the same leisurely speed, the doors opened, revealing a carpeted hallway and rows of doors.

The former Tag Team Champion stepped out of the elevator, looking left, then right, as he frantically tried to remember what his room number was. Dammit, every number he had ever encountered was flitting across his brain right now—except the one that mattered.

Then, for a second—as though God had looked down, shaken his head and said _You poor dope, HERE_.—his mind cleared and the number came to him. _Room 378_. Turning right, he jogged down the hall to the last door on the left. He dug in his pocket for his card key, and spent a few nerve-wracking seconds trying to push it into the slot and turn the handle.

All the while certain that he was too late, that he was going to open the door and find her gone…

Eventually, the lock chirped, its light flashing green, and John twisted the handle, pushing the door open, almost slamming it against the adjacent wall. Hesitantly, he moved into the hotel room. The first thing he saw—which went a long way toward easing some of the tension in his stomach—was Maria's vivid mane of red hair, still swept back from her beautiful face. The second—which sent it tumbling right back into the abyss--was the large suitcase on the bed, to which the SmackDown Diva was methodically adding her clothes.

Maria hadn't acknowledged the sound of the door opening, but as John moved forward tentatively into the light, she looked up, her gaze fastening on his face. As soon as her green eyes locked onto his, the Tuesday Night Delight froze, paralyzed by the intensity of his feelings for her. Maria's face was puffy from crying, her eyes were red—but regardless, she still took his breath away. And he wondered why it had taken him so long to tell her that he loved her, why he hadn't made his feelings known the first second he had looked—_really looked_—into her eyes.

And now, thanks to his own stupidity, he was about to lose her.

As though to reiterate this face, the former backstage reporter looked away, focusing once again on her task of packing. "What do you want, John?" Her normally effervescent tone was quiet and dull, and just the fact that she was calling him by his name—not his nickname, but his _name_—made him feel as though his heart had just been rolled through a pool of broken glass.

The Shaman of Sexy took another cautious step toward the woman he loved. "I have to talk to you, 'Ria."

The SmackDown shook her head. "No….no, I have _nothing_ to say to you." She looked up, met his eyes once again. "So why bother?"

John held out his hands, his expression pleading. "Please…'Ria…just hear me out—"

"Why should I?" Maria retorted, anger briefly flashing across her face. Just as quickly as it had appeared, however, it was gone, replaced by that terrifying resigned sadness. She looked down at her suitcase, twisting a bright pink halter top in her hands.

The former Tag Team Champion followed her gaze. "Where're you going?" As soon as the words were out, he wanted to kick himself. _Where the hell do you THINK she's going?..._he silently admonished himself. _Anywhere that YOU aren't…_

Maria didn't look up. "I'm rooming with Nikki and Brie tonight…and I'll probably be traveling with them from now on." With brisk, almost automatic movements, she folded the shirt, laying it carefully on top of some other garments.

The Tuesday Night Delight felt his features twist in agony. "'Ria, please…don't do this…" he whispered. He moved toward her, his arms still outstretched. "I'm so sorry—"

"Stop _saying _that!" Maria's voice was a harsh scream, and she whirled around, glaring up at John. Her green eyes swept up and down his body disdainfully. "You don't…you don't even know what sorry means! It's just a _word_ to you—just like all the others that you said to me." Her brilliant irises filled with tears and she turned away, biting her lip. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and miserable. "Just like when you said that you loved me."

The words sent a bolt of pain through his heart and before John knew what he was doing, he crossed the room, trying to pull Maria into his arms. "'Ria, I _do_ love you—"

"Then why were you with her?" The SmackDown Diva wrenched free of his embrace, backing away from him. When John reached out for her again, she shied back from his touch. Her eyes were blazing with fury and anguish. "If you _love_ me, then why were you with her?" She spat out each word with a deliberate preciseness. For a moment, she stared at him, her eyes searching his face as though looking for some secret sign, then with an impatient sigh, she turned away. "It doesn't matter anymore…" Again that awful resignation. "It's over. What we had…it's broken…and there's nothing we can do to fix it." The former backstage reporter bowed her head, her red hair falling forward and obscuring her beautiful face. "Please, John, just…just leave."

The Shaman of Sexy couldn't speak. His ability to wax eloquent in the ring had failed him, and he could not think of one single thing to refute what Maria had just said. John hung his head dejectedly, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers encountered cool metal, and he frowned, puzzled. Digging out the object in question, he opened his fist to examine it. His eyes widened. Glancing from it back up to the slender figure of Maria, he closed his fingers gently around the object again.

He knew just what to say now.

The Tuesday Night Delight moved closer to the SmackDown Diva, pausing just behind her. He longed to reach out and hold her again, but he forced himself not to. Instead, he spoke. "You're right…you're right. It _is_ broken." Maria didn't lift her head or make any indication that she had heard him. John went on. "I _hurt_ you…and there's nothing I can do to fix it." He reached out, and saw the Diva tense. But John merely reached around her, depositing the object from his pocket on the pile of folding clothes. "Look, baby," he murmured softly.

Maria's head lifted slightly. Light glinted off of the silver necklace, its two broken halves almost forming a whole heart. John heard her sharp intake of breath. "_That's _what I feel like without you, Maria," he whispered. "Without you…I'm nothing."

The former backstage reporter still didn't move. John tilted his head down toward her, leaning close to her ear, but taking care not to touch her. "I'm not going to lie—I've done a lot of shitty things in my life. But the one thing that I _regret_…is what I did to you." He felt his throat constrict with emotion for a second, and paused. "You were the one thing in my life that made sense, 'Ria…you were the one thing that was real. But I fucked it up. I fucked it up _bad_."

Hesitantly, he put his hand on her shoulder. Maria tensed, but didn't push him away. John went on, his voice starting to crack. "And there's nothing I can do to take it back, nothing I can do to make it better. The only thing I can say…the only thing I have left to say…is that _I'm sorry_."

His voice died away, silence taking his place. And still Maria said nothing. A long awkward moment passed. Finally, John sighed, letting his hand fall back down to his side. With evident reluctance, he stepped back from her, turning around and shuffling toward the door. His feet were dragging against the carpet. He bit back the urge to look back, focusing instead on the door, the handle, the hallway beyond—

"Johnny?"

That single word made the Shaman of Sexy freeze. Slowly, hardly daring to hope, he turned around, gazing at the SmackDown Diva. Maria still hadn't looked up, still hadn't moved from the spot. Then, as John watched, she reached out, closing her fingers around the broken necklace. She lifted it up, opening her hand to study it. With her other hand, she pushed back her brilliantly hued hair, lifting her head to look at him. For several seconds, they regarded each other, then Maria opened her mouth, uttering only two words:

"_Don't go_."

John wasn't even aware that he had moved; all he knew was that one moment, Maria was on the other side of the room, and the next, she was in his arms. The former Tag Team Champion buried his hands in her hair, pressing his lips to her temple, her cheek. He pulled back to gaze at her face, and saw that she was crying. "Don't cry, 'Ria," the Tuesday Night Delight whispered, tears stinging his own eyes. He slid his hands to her face, gently brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "It kills me when you cry."

Maria tilted her head up, gazing at him with a kind of sober affection. "Then don't make me cry," she murmured.

John dipped his head down, his mouth grazing her jawline. "Never again, 'Ria," he promised, just before he leaned in to seal her mouth with his.

_**THE END**_


End file.
